I waited until they had gone, then I turned to Hawthorne. ‘Maybe it would be a good idea if we found somewhere quiet and rehearsed how we’re going to run our session,’ I suggested.

He looked surprised. ‘You think there’s any need?’

‘Of course there is!’ This was what I’d been waiting for all along. For once, I knew what I was talking about. ‘People are bound to ask you questions as well as me. You’re the subject of the book, so everyone’s going to be interested in you. It’s much more sensible to prepare the answers and make sure we don’t contradict each other.’

‘It’s not a performance.’

‘Actually, it is. We’re going to be on a stage, with an audience. They’ll have paid money for their tickets.’ He looked doubtful, so I went on. ‘Maybe we should track down Colin Matheson. He’s interviewing us. He can give us an idea of how he wants it to go.’

Hawthorne shrugged. ‘It’s only questions and answers, mate. And there’ll probably only be half a dozen people there. You’re worrying too much.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Maïssa Lamar approaching the hotel, wrapped in tight-fitting black spandex with a headband, wires trailing from her ears. She had been out jogging. As she disappeared from sight I was reminded of what I had seen at the airport. I told Hawthorne.

‘It was very strange,’ I said. ‘She seemed to be on her own, but the moment we all got up and left she went and met someone.’ I described the man I had seen. ‘Their conversation seemed very intense.’

‘It’s not so unusual to meet someone you know at an airport,’ Hawthorne said.

‘At Southampton Airport? And she was talking about you. I’m sure I heard her mention your name.’

‘They’re all interested in me. You just said so yourself.’

It was exactly what I’d expected. He wasn’t taking me seriously. But still I went on. ‘There’s something else,’ I said. ‘Someone stole £5 off the table at that restaurant in the airport.’

‘You think it was Maïssa?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe it was the waiter.’

‘It could have been any of them.’ He still didn’t seem interested so I finished up with the playing card, the ace of spades that had been planted on Charles le Mesurier’s car.

Hawthorne shook his head. ‘Tony, mate. You’re putting this stuff together like it’s a book. But nothing’s happened. Nobody’s been killed. So none of it’s of any interest.’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘I just think maybe you should relax.’ How could he be so reasonable and so irritating at the same time?